ᴘᴀʀᴀʟʟᴇʟ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛꜱ | 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙽𝚊𝚛𝚊

The One with The Surprise Request 💕

“The first verse is all about softness,” he explained, rolling his shoulders back and demonstrating a fluid sweep of his arm, like brushing away the dark before sunrise. “It’s not about showing off yet—it’s about drawing people in. Flow. Breathe with it.”

The girls tried, tentatively at first. Movements were a little stiff, more focused on precision than intention.

That’s when Nara stepped in. She moved gently between them, lowering a wrist here, softening a shoulder there. “Relax your hands,” she told one, brushing against the girl’s fingers lightly. “You’re not cutting the air, you’re painting it.”

Lami giggled at the metaphor but adjusted, and immediately the line looked smoother.

As Seojin counted beats—“Five, six, seven, eight”—Nara drifted between the trainees like a tether. Her own body knew the choreography already, the steps living in her muscles, but she used that certainty not to stand out, but to guide.

When the chorus hits, the energy spikes—steps sharper, jumps carrying more weight. One trainee stumbled slightly, the spin throwing her off balance. Nara caught her arm mid-turn and steadied her.

“Don’t fight the momentum,” she said quietly, eyes meeting hers in the mirror. “Use it. Let it carry you through instead of resisting.”

They tried again. This time, the spin landed clean. The girl’s face lit up, and the circle of trainees clapped instinctively for her.

The music played on, Seojin breaking down each section into counts, while Nara wove encouragement through corrections. “Lift your chin—yes, that’s it. Don’t be afraid to take up space. This is your moment too.”

Bit by bit, the room began to transform. What had started as scattered individuals now pulsed with something unified, the music anchoring them together.

By the time they reached the bridge, sweat dotted their brows, cheeks flushed, but the spark in their eyes hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it burned brighter.

Seojin let the track run one last time without interruption. No counts, no stopping for mistakes. Just movement. The girls gave everything they had, and Nara watched, chest swelling with quiet pride.

They weren’t perfect yet—not even close. But perfection wasn’t what mattered right now. What mattered was that they were beginning to believe in themselves.

And that belief, Nara thought, was stronger than any choreography.

---

As the girls repeated the chorus again, Seojin motioned for Nara to step aside with him, giving them space to run through the steps on their own. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching her more than the trainees.

“You’ve been holding it together really well,” he said quietly. “But I can tell—you’re carrying more weight than you let on.”

Nara let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “오빠, you’ve been my choreographer for almost a month now, and I think we’re both more nervous about the debut than anyone else.”

Seojin tilted his head, studying her, before a small smirk tugged at his lips. “And yet you managed to learnt and memorized three routines in that duration. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

She rolled her eyes lightly, but before she could reply, he reached over and ruffled her hair. The simple, brotherly gesture made her shoulders ease for the first time all day.

“Trust yourself, Nara,” he said, his voice gentler now. “They’re looking at you like you’ve already debuted a hundred times. That’s not pressure—it’s trust. Don’t forget that.”

For a beat, she let the words settle, her gaze flicking to the mirror where the trainees practiced with earnest determination. A small smile touched her lips.

“Alright,” she said finally, straightening up. “Back to work before they think we’re slacking.”

Seojin chuckled and pushed off the wall. “Yes, boss.”

Together, they rejoined the circle, the moment tucked quietly between them.